Ficlets from my Discord journey
by Grain Crain
Summary: This is a collection of short ficlets I wrote on Discord servers. Some of them are headcannons discussed on chat and written out and ficlets.
1. Souza's Cradle

[This is from the Discord chat.  
Capitao owns an orphanage in brazil and most of his income is spent to maintain the place. it's named 'Souza's cradle' and not many people know that he is the owner because the name Souza is very common. only Cav knows

and cav kinda hates the idea of cap using the money to be sappy, thinking a mere orphanage cant really change the poverty of brazil but one day she sees a child suffering from bad parenthood in england. as soon as she thinks of how the child would be better off in cap's orphanage, she begrudgingly accepts that cap's idea is not too bad after all

He does send cav for a three-monthly check up if he cant go there by himself. She hates it when he asks her to go, so when she is at the orphanage the staffs are scared to death. Children call her the sister big tree because of her dark greenish khaki shirts and pants, and also she lets them climb on her when she stands still like a stone statue to monitor the staffs.

She would ask the children too. "Who makes you happy here?" She asks a group of 4 year olds on her lap. "Aunty zelita because she gives us cuddles!" They chatter and point at one of the best employees. "No, uncle vicente (capitao) gives you a better one." One of the older children shouts across the room

And cav would ask some of the oldest children to tell her which one of the employees have been bad. Since capitao spends quite a lot of money to hire people with qualification, there aren't that much of rotten apples amongst the carers. But there are some weird street gangs lurking around the orphange and those are sort of the things cav takes care of.

One of the children who left the orphanage becomes a part of the gang member and almost lures the children from the orphanage into human trafficking. Cav hunts down the gang and finds the teen girl who used to follow her around when she was a child. At first cav gives the girl a warning but one day, some of the children have gone missing. So cav set out to destroy the gang and confronts the teen girl who is like "I thought you were different, Taina. I thought you knew how fucked up this world is and how good people just cant survive." The teen girl tries to kill cav by guns and knives. This breaks cav because she taught her how to fight. In the end cav ends up either killing the teen or put her into jail.]

Below is the paragraph of fic

Capitao has been wanting to speak to Caveira who had visited his orphanage last week. Catching the woman has been bit of a rat chase and he started to become worried, wondering what happened in Brazil. This is the reason why the sight of her sitting in his dimly lit office startled him. When he asks her of last visit to the orphanage, she spits at his feet.

"How the fuck do you think it went? Just like any typical favela." She describes what happened of her and the teen.

"Stop this child play, Vicente. No matter how fancy and nice that little shack looks, there are flies trying to take a nib on those children." Her voice is low with suppressed anger and disappointment. Those kidnapped children are long gone to somewhere that she couldn't find. Their smiles and the soft texture of those fluffy cheeks haunts her calloused and tethered hands.

"I am not going to stop." As soon as Capitao finishes his response, Caveira digs her fingers into the collar of his shirt and slams him against the wall.

"You naive shithead. That little doll house didn't help her or the children who might be wasting away at this very moment. It might even become a hunting field for those sick fucks out there." Her fists shake as she regrets the very moment of putting a glimpse of hope on the orphanage. She always doubted that those parentless children will have any chance in the outer world, as she views them as flock of sheep to be slaughtered for the darker profits.

"But it helps the other children. It gives them the food, shleter and a sense of belonging before they find a family." Capitao lets her arms push into his neck. He keeps the eye contact and stays calm, which annoys Caveira.

"Forget about orphanage. We need to go and wipe out those scums. Then think about playing family to the street urchins." The suggestion is supposed to force Capitao out of his tranquil state but his eye doesn't even flinch.

"I know the girl should have been introduced to a proper education. I am working on that right now." He sighs, closes his weary eye and allows Caveira to hold his weight. She frowns at the answer, thinking Capitao sounds similar to one of those politicians that makes false promises about brighter future.

"She is dead. It's too late and you know it. Maybe I should have trained her into BOPE." Mentioning the name of their organisation finally brings some reaction out of him. She didn't expect Capitao to shove her away with harsh force. She staggers away and mouth agape, taken aback at his piercing leer.

"Do not." A growl escapes through his teeth.

"BOPE is not a place for young ones and you _know_ it." He shudders and Caveira isn't ignorant of his repulsion towards their team. BOPE has been involved in number of moral controversies but it's still better than being involved in criminal acts.

"Violence cannot be the answer for our next generation." There it is. Caveira rolls her eyes at same old pacifist ideology from Capitao.

"The purpose of the orphanage is to give children the childhood. To have them nurtured until they find better home or become old enough to make a better choice." His words are true to his intentions. Caveira is aware of Capitao's busy life in his office as he sorts out the necessary paper works and such. She sees the bag under his eye but the corruption of a blooming teenager reminded of herself too much.

"Taina. All of us have souls when we are born. Our exteriors change as we grow old but i believe that warmth and compassion help our souls to grow ourselves especially at young age. Have you ever wondered how those young souls become the terrorists and criminals? Have you ever thought how those abandoned or damaged souls are trapped in the wrong-doings of the society and the environment that they grew up in?" The wrinkles on the older man appears to be deeper as he throws all these contemplative questions at Caveira.

"A girl just sold her house sisters and brothers away, and that is all you can say. Save your religious garbage to the church." She strides out of his room and ignores him calling out to her. She understands what he is saying but the built-up fury from her adolescence is obscuring the truth of his words. How long must the innocent suffer in the selfish structure of rich men? How long does she have to work for the force to completely eradicate those scums from high and low? When will she finally succumb to the madness of causing agony for the sake of 'interrogation'? Would she have not walked this path if she had a better childhood? She doesn't know. She knows nothing other than slashing and shooting flesh and blood. It's something that she is best at, so she can't give up the way of violence. She _knows_ that this is some blind conviction. She fucking _knows_ that Capitao sees the light in the humanity even though half of his sight is taken away by the violence.


	2. Jackal's Trauma

Six reported of a small village contested by the terrorists. Along with him and thr other operators, they went in for a terrorist hunt. They had no intel of civilians there, so jackal was beyond freaked out when he saw two siblings hiding under a debris of broken down house. The younger was asleep but the older was wide awake. Their eyes met and Jackal saw no fear in the child's eyes. It was a bitter sight to witness a young soul staring at him with sense of defeat.

"Hey. You are okay. Let me get you out." Jackal whispered and reached his hand out, but the child shook her head and pointed at her feet. He noticed the thin limbs already bloody from the broken woods and metal.

"Mister," she called out in strained whisper.

"Get him out." Those feeble hands tried to grab on her little brother's clothes even though it kept slipping out of her fingers.

"And kill me. Before those white face come and get me." Her voice started to gain strength as she asked for her end.

"No, come on. We can get you both out." Jackal swallowed the uneasy familiarity.

"They are very close. Kill me before i end up like my family." She faltered and squeezed every bit of her remaining vigour to shift forward.

"I, I can't." Jackal wanted to shout for the others but the girl was right. He could hear footsteps that weren't of his allies.

"Please, there isn't much ti-" A loud bang of sniper rifle interrupted her sentence. She never got to talk anymore because the bullet struck into her forehead, which also grazed Jackal's cheek as well. Everything after this became a blur to Jackal but he could smell the saltiness of his own sweat and a young boy's tear when he sprinted out of the scene. The image of an older sibling's death overlapped with his own and he remembered nothing of the mission until he came back to the base.

The winter chill seeps into his skalp in a form of jabbing droplets from the grey sky. Every bit of his body and nerves are numbing from the freezing cold but Ryad rather die of hypothermia than the ruthless violence from his daily life. He has been serving in the force for thirty years and it has been a wild and unexpected journey that his younger self wouldn't have imagined. One can assume that someone like Ryad is still in the army to find the murderer of his brother, that his motivation is driven by sheer vengeance of his stolen childhood. It may be hard to believe that Ryad is losing the purpose of his life. One could ask him 'what have you been doing your entire life?' and Ryad hates the fact that he can't give an immediate answer to the condescending question. Depression soaks through his aching muscles from chronic insomnia and sense of defeat puts out the flame of the determination that kept his heart ablaze. He shudders in his wet shirt but there is something that keeps him standing in the downpour. The white noise of rain carries a familiar voice and a figure that resembles of his old hero. Ryad gazes into the spectre of his dead brother and listens intently, hoping that he would tell him to give up and join him. Forget about the hatred and exhaustion and walk over to the place where he can rest in peace.

The bloodstain on his brother's shirt is the only sign that helps Ryad to register this whole situation as a hallucination. A mere imagination of his exaggerated horror and sorrow of the gore from Faisal's dead body. Despite this knowledge, he can't stop himself from being drawn closer to the sweet invitation of joining his family in after life. He can just do it now with the pistol in his hand. One pull from the trigger. To escape the self-pity and endless blame that he put on himself.

"Amour!" Someone calls him from afar. Ryad snaps out of his trance at the sight of a figure running towards him with an umbrella.

"Are you mad? You will catch cold in this weather." As the shorter man pulls Ryad's arm towards the base, the ghost of Faisal fades away in the rain, waving him a goodbye.

"Not today?" Ryad whispers and waves back at the figure who shakes its head at him. A tear strolls down from his icy face and he never knew that crying could feel so warm, especially with his new love guiding him back to the purpose of his life.

"I am sorry, Gus. Let's get back."


	3. Thatcher's Curtain Call

The gun shots. Booms of explosions. Screams and blood-gurgles of his comrades. These are the composition of music for an old soldier. He heard them plenty, dreamt of them every fortnight and play the part of his own orchestra throughout his life. He has been in this game ever since eighteen and planned on staying till his eventual retirement, so bullets through his stomach feels somehow much unexpected to him _. Can't be lying down_ , he thinks. I need to jump up and hold my gun. Does he really have to? A question blocks his thought. _What are you going to do after you survive this? Go on and continue to fight till your body is mangled to beyond? Till your soul crosses the river of the eternally-damned?_

"Fuck," Mike swears in strained voice to numb himself away from pain and internal conflict. He can use the coms device but the voice from his conscience keeps on nagging. _Save yourself, sure. What about those youngsters who will throw their body for your sake then, hm? It's time to go, old timer._

"Thatcher!" Mute shouts his code name, louder than his usual self. _Look, the young idiot is coming to drag you back into safety. To patch you up and get ready for another battle, another day._ He doesn't understand why, but Mike lays low and stays silent without responding to his comrade.

"Maybe you are right, but that is not what I signed up for." He growls to himself and tries to move his arm which is already weak and heavy from the loss of blood _. Hey, why do you even try?_

"Because I am a solider." He chuckles at the insanity of having a conversation with his delusion _. I am not a delusion. I am just here to tell you that you have nothing to look forward to._

"Stop." The truth sends shiver down to his spine _. No one will be there after the military life, not out in the real world._

"Piss off." Mike can barely hear his own voice, realising that he is lying in a pool of his own life essence _. Let it pour. Let it go, old man. You can be free now, away from your own conviction. Your incapability of forming anything important out of your comfort zone._

"Have I done my job?" He asks. _Yes, you have done enough. Those young ones will carry your legacy. Those miserable thirty or so years did something. You are nothing but a past._

"Yeah. I guess it's time." Mike agrees and relaxes his body. Nothing seems to matter now. He can see the bullets hitting the metal frames, creating sparks from the friction. Beautiful fireworks. The last grand view before his curtain calls. _You can rest now, champ._


End file.
